A Love Story in Snippets
by Kiryuu-Yori
Summary: It wasn't like she was attracted to him. Sure, he was funny, and even charming, when he wanted to be, and things were so much more fun and lively when he was around, but he was so not her type. She liked the silent, brooding, misunderstood genius type. She didn't like them loud, brash to the point of obnoxiousness and kind of goofy. AU. SakuNaru. NaruSaku.
1. I Frustration

An artist Sakura and a writer Naruto in a modern, university setting.

A love story in thirteen parts.

Standard disclaimers apply.

Enjoy.

I. Frustration

_Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.  
_Pause.  
Erase.

_Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.  
_Pause._  
_Erase.

_Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.  
_Erase. Erase. Erase.

_Scritch-_

She flung down her pencil and blew at her nonexistent bangs in frustration.

She's been trying to draw the male lead in her latest manga for the better part of the lunch break, but her drawing always somehow managed to end up looking like that loud blonde guy from her history class. Why? Why, dammit?

It was probably the hair. His hair was too darned spiky and gravity-defying and golden and anime-like for his own good. It wasn't even like he was bishie material or anything remotely close. As if. The thought of it made her feel faintly sick.

Though she did have to hand it to him, it took guts to volunteer for that first recitation. That was something she would do. Only she didn't. 'Cause he beat her to it. And he didn't even get the answer right. Hah. Though truth be told, she wouldn't have gotten it right, either. Thank goodness he volunteered before she mustered up the courage to make a fool out of herself.

Still, that didn't excuse him from messing up her drawings.

Frowning, she picked up the pencil and tried again.

_Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch. Scrrrriiii-_

Ah, fuck it. She wasn't really in the mood for drawing anyway.


	2. II Train Rides

II. Earphones

After weeks of hanging back and walking extra slow and letting several trains pass before getting on one, the thing she had been taking pains to avoid finally happened: she was sitting next to her obnoxious, spiky-haired classmate on the long train ride home.

It was sheer carelessness on her part, really. If she hadn't been so engrossed in that new book she bought (a Neil Gaiman anthology called Fragile Things), she would have taken the usual diligence she exercised in avoiding him.

She surreptitiously studied him from the corner of her eye.

Well, he had his earphones on, and seemed ignorant enough of her presence. That meant it would not be rude to _not_ talk to him, right? While it was true that social norm and politeness dictate that she make small talk since they knew each other (well, not really, but they were classmates and that was close enough), it wasn't an _absolute_ rule, right?

She tried to lose herself once more in Neil Gaiman's world, but her brain had other ideas. It started wondering why, every time she saw her classmate on the station, he was alone.

She frowned, setting the book down on her lap. Come to think of it, every time she saw him around campus, he was alone as well. One would think that such a loud, outgoing person would be surrounded by friends. Maybe his obnoxiousness drove people away?

She debated with herself for another minute, before the good manners that were drilled into her since childhood won over.

"Hey..."

He ignored her.

She felt her ears heat up. How dare he ignore her? She was doing him a favour here by offering him a chance to be her acquaintance. He was obviously in need of one.

She cleared her throat and said in a louder voice, "Hey..."

He looked up at her. She twisted her lips in what she hoped passed for a friendly smile.

"We're in the same history class, right?"

He looked at her with furrowed brows, but she went on.

"I'm Haruno Sakura. You're Uzu... Uzu-something..." Of course she remembered his name, but she pretended not to know it, in case he didn't know hers. 'Cause that might seem weird. She didn't want him to think that she had taken a particular interest in him, after all.

"Uzumaki Naruto."

She held out a hand, and he took it without smiling. She blinked. His manner was certainly far from how he acted in class.

His eyes flicked over to the book she still held open on her lap. The familiar toothy grin broke over his face.

"Gaiman huh? Damn best writer of his time. No, scratch that. Damn best writer EVER."

She smiled back. Huh. Maybe she could actually consider being this guy's friend.

What commenced was a lively discussion on prose and fiction and literature in general. She discovered that he was an aspiring writer, and she confided that while she was an avid reader (a total bookworm, as a matter of fact), she was more of a sketch artist.

And thus began one of many train rides home together.


End file.
